At the Seams

Google images

That strange looking tool? That’s called a seam splitter. It does what you would expect.

   Hand me that skirt. Thanks. See? Here is a seam.  I asked for this skirt because the fabric is still pretty, even though it is worn on that side.  This side is still beautiful. Still useful. This is the hope of fabric.

   You will be tempted to just grab on and rip. It is fast. It feels good. To tear is to feel quick power. And if all you want is strips for a rag rug, or to tie up tomato plants, that’s fine.

   But – you probably know this already – tearing is not usually deliberate. More often it’s driven by pent up energy. Impulse needing release. Need can be blind, like rage.  The outcome – a rag rug or whatnot – may not even be a thought in the straining or pulling. Most rips are unintended.

   So, hand me that seam-splitter.  Thanks. It satisfies in a different way. It’s methodical. When I work it along the seam like this, I can already imagine the potential I am creating. I might be planning a quilt. Or curtains. Or even another skirt with a pattern that I met in a dream last night, these very colors winking at me with purpose and knowing. 

  With luck, my hands might even contribute to what Dr. King referred to as our “single garment of destiny.”

   We take things apart at the seams when we need to start over. When the material we have is still valued, still loved, but just does not fit any more.

You know already that I’m going to say that life is like this too, don’t you?

You have what you need. Consider it in a new way. Move forward with purpose and honor.

Small Poems from the Great Hunkering

In late March, when New York State went into our “Pause” phase in the early days of COVID-19, I began writing and sharing one small poem each day. It lasted as long as my observations brought inspiration, through the end of April. Some are haiku, there were a couple tanka – some were just very short poems. All were based on snapshot impressions of the day in front of me.

That time of spring in upstate NY is notable for nearly-daily differences and changes in the world. I couldn’t get over the sense that nature – the weather, the plants, the birds – were just going on with their natural lives without interruption, and how that juxtaposed so sharply with the bewilderment and shock that the sudden change brought to our human existence. This picture highlights a few of them that speak to resilience.

A Place for Poems.

For years, I put off having a blog for only my writing. In 2017, I started and co-edited NY Votes for Women: A Suffrage Centennial Anthology, but that has always been meant as a cooperative effort, for sharing of others’ work and ideas more than just my own.  I’ve shared my own writing here and there, on Facebook, Instagram (when small enough and paired with nice graphics) and through readings, but have resisted a blog site, until now.

So here it is. There will be poems on another page, or in blog entries, soon. And announcements about my upcoming release, “Old Stones Understand,” from Shanti Arts Publishing! Because, let’s be honest.  Necessity is the mother of invention, and having a book to share has made a web page finally feel necessary.

So stay tuned and send me a note if you like.  And thanks for visiting.